People may imagine the end of a paid worklife becomes long stretches of days of boredom, with nothing to do, and life hardly worth living. How wrong they are. We've been retired for almost three decades and we barely know where the time goes. The days seem too short to enable us to do everything we have in mind. And it's not because we're slower with age, necessarily. It's because there's just so much to do.

We continue to live in the same house, with no immediate thought of transiting to smaller living quarters. One of the leisure pleasures in our life has always been nosing about looking for art and antiques. Even when we lived in gentle poverty, we were able, now and again to splurge $6 on a piece of Canadiana now and again. It was fun and fascinating, and exciting, all at the same time. And since we've been together for the past 74 years, 68 of them in marriage, we've had a lot of time to gather up possessions that satisfy our sense of aesthetic.

 So moving would of necessity require disposing of, as in de-acquisitioning all these items that bring us a kind of warm feeling of pleasure, since we can recall for almost everything, the when and where of its introduction into our household. None of which has ever quenched our imagination in the possibility of somewhere finding other fascinating objects, elderly pieces that someone long ago was skilled in fashioning as a practical tool or a work of art.

Life is, actually a work of art, and practical at the same time. And we have the opportunity day by day to make the most of it whenever and wherever we can. It's true we take life at a slower pace, a luxury not afforded us during a working lifetime. We get up out of bed when we feel like it, just as we retire when it seems sensible to us to do so.

We went out to the ravine with Jackie and Jillie a little earlier than usual today, since doing the food shopping was also on the agenda, along with a few other stops while we were out. An overcast, but wonderfully mild day, the temperature soaring once again to 18C. Even the wind was mild. Entering the ravine, it now astonishes us to see how much of the snowpack has melted from one day to the next. Even the built-up snowbanks on people's lawns have receded immensely. Perhaps another several weeks will see us free of snow altogether.

There are microclimates in the forest landscape, where suddenly you find yourself in a really chill spot, not just the snow radiating its icy-cold, but the air itself and the wind freshening it, much colder than other places through the trail system. The ascents and descents were a little more slippery than they were yesterday, given the absence of sun, but we had no trouble negotiating them.

Later in the afternoon, we left Jackie and Jillie disconsolate as usual, slipping out of the house, leaving them alone, alone, alone, poor tykes. We were gone as long as it takes to run those few errands and do the shopping, but their ecstatic 'welcome back home'! relief tells us it doesn't matter how long we're absent, they've been abandoned.

They're compensated now and again. This time beforehand, when they helped us enjoy last evening's meal. They had, of course, already had their dinner, they always eat before we do. But they were front-and-centre while Irving cut up the little sirloin tip roast I prepared for dinner, secure in the knowledge that they'll be offered tidbits. Once, before we seat ourselves for dinner, and then again when we arise, dinner over. Any leftovers will be kept as treats for them, doled out in moderation.